


Not His, Never His

by Ezzy_Pie



Series: Cullen Rutherford & Solona Amell  - Stories of the Dragon Age, Blight and Beyond [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Awkward First Times, F/M, Reminiscing, Smut, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:52:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4039459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezzy_Pie/pseuds/Ezzy_Pie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen reminisces about a certain Warden, and pines for a woman who will never be his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not His, Never His

**Author's Note:**

> So i found it a little harder than i thought to write for a character not of my own creation, but i thought i'd had a crack at it. Whilst i'm procrastinating working on my original works. Hope it turned out ok.  
> I totally head cannon that Cullen had a brief romance with my warden mage, until Jowen screwed everything up. And Uldred came in with his blood magic and destroyed any chance of reconciliation.  
> Then obviously Cullen develops feelings for my inquisitor, but she chooses Solas.

Cullen was wrenched violently from the nightmare, tangled in sweat drenched sheets, his breath hard and labored. His golden curls damp and lank across his brow, heart beating wildly in his chest. It was always the same. He was back in the circle, the desire demon wearing her face, tormenting him with a pair of bright emerald eyes and dark gold tresses.

Solona.

He swung his legs from over the edge of his bed, and poured water from the pitcher into the chipped ceramic basin. Splashing the chilled water on his face, calming his frayed nerves. Pulling on his breeches and tunic, he climbed down the ladder to his office, ignoring the mountains of paperwork spread across his desk, and sauntered out to the battlements.It was early morning, many of the merchants just beginning to bring out their wares. He breathed deeply of the crisp mountain air, and let his gaze wander.  
His heart sunk when he saw her. Whilst Solona haunted his dreams, Valindra Lavellan haunted his waking hours. His jaw clenched, knuckles whitening as his grip tightened on the stone of the battlement wall.  
The Elven apostate had his hand resting on the small of her back as she inspected Belle’s wares. Solas leaned in low and whispered something against her ear, laughter like a lyrical birdsong, spilled forth from her lips. The sound made his heart skip a beat.  
Cullen pushed of the wall, cursing himself and the Maker for being such a fool for the second time in his life. He had been a bumbling idiot when she flirted with him in Haven. He was commander of the inquisitions armies, that he could do in his sleep. But when a young, beautiful elven girl, with eyes that sparkled like sapphires and silver-white hair, flirted with him, he became a blithering idiot. 

And so once again, Cullen had ruined it all. Where he became flustered and stuttered in her presence, Solas was eloquent and knowledgeable. Where Cullen was a broken former Templar wary of mages, Solas had taught her to walk the fade. His past haunted him, and toyed with his future. He had been hesitant, unsure because she was a mage. And that uncertainty had once again cost him any chance he might have had for her to be his. And not for the first time in his life.

Solona.

Cullen had fallen desperately in love with Solona Amell, from the first day he arrived at the Fereldan Circle. She had been barely eighteen, he twenty-one. So young, and so long ago. She had been one of the few mages who did not openly revile and fear the Templars, and a tentative friendship had formed between the pair, their bond growing and deepening as time went by. Although they had shared naught but a few chaste kisses. It reached the ears of Gregoir, who tasked him to attend Solona’s Harrowing, thankfully he had been spared from cutting down his love. But the task had shaken him to his very core. If she had failed, he would have had to do his duty, and the thought had sickened him.  
Later that evening, on her way to Irving’s office, she had invited him to her new quarters, to celebrate. She had been shy, yet her eyes shone with pride and hope. He was still sick to his stomach over her Harrowing, panic had seized him, and he had ran. Leaving her brokenhearted at Irving’s door.

He had lain awake in his bunk that night, drifting between restless sleep and waking agony. Cullen had thrown himself from his bed and knocked on her door to beg forgiveness. He remembered it clearly, how she opened her door, bleary eyed from sleep, in her white cotton nightgown, golden tresses cascading in waves, beautifully disheveled. Instead of apologizing he kissed her, cupping her delicate face between his hands, one hand fisting in her hair as she had pulled him into her room. He kissed her like a man starved, pulling her to him, her small breasts crushed against the broad expanse of his chest. Solona had pulled him with her down onto the narrow bed, stripping him of his tunic, all eager lips and desperate hands.  
He froze when she reached for the ties of his breeches. ‘I love you, it’s alright Cullen’ she had whispered, as she placed his hand on her breast. His lips met hers, his hand palming a pinching her flesh, eliciting sighs and gasps and moans from her kiss bruised lips. 

She yanked his breeches to his ankles and he bunched her nightdress around her hips. His entry was not smooth as he broke through her virginity. Sensing his uncertainty she thrust her hips upwards. His movements were slow at first, hesitant. Instinct guided them as his movements became quicker, their breathing came raggedly as he panted above her, groaning louder, thrusting harder, faster, claiming her with a primitive possessiveness, as he watched her thrash wildly beneath him. Her passion matching his own as her body arched into him.

He felt her tighten around him and was enough to send Cullen over the edge, ecstasy bursting over him as he spilled his hot seed deep within her before collapsing against her, breathing heavily.  
He rolled them over, so she was lying atop him, still deep within her, their passion satiated. She lay with her head against his chest, her breasts pressed against him, their legs still tangled. She brushed his hair from his face and just continued to stroke his hair, she closed her eyes and a contented smile spread across her lips. Cullen was the happiest he had ever been.

How was he to know the very next day she would be ripped from his arms.

The rest was still a blur in his mind, and he dare not dwell on the memories. Jowan. Blood Magic. Duncan. Grey Wardens. Trapped. Desire Demons. Uldred. Solona…  
His mind had been broken, he had rejected her, said terrible things to her, unforgivable things. He was broken. 

When she brought Dagna, a dwarf to study at the circle. He had wanted to beg forgiveness, get down on his knees, bury his face in her robes and beg.  
But he didn’t. Cullen had seen the other warden. Had seen how her hand clasped his. Had seen the way she looked at him. And seen the way she look straight through Cullen. He saw her one last time, when she came to Greenfall Chantry. How she had know he was there he will never know, but the encounter had been a disaster. That was the last time he saw her.

And now, she belonged to the king, to someone else, not his.

Then came Kirkwall, and Meredith’s ever growing madness. And Velenna Hawke. 

She had been the spitting image of her cousin, when she came to him in the gallows. He had been struck dumb at first, the dirty-blonde mage at her side, whom he later recognized as serial escapist Anders, stepping to her side.

He couldn’t even think on that right now.

Cullen tore his thoughts away from the dark place. There was a reason he never spoke of her, a reason he preferred people to believe the Hero of Fereldan and he had been nothing more than passing acquaintances. It had hurt, and he hated reliving it. Except when the lyrium withdrawal hit him hardest, and the delirium was at it’s worst.

His eyes amber eyes returned to the two elves in the market place. Lavellen looked happy, even the dour apostate had the ghost of a smile on his face these days, if the low moans and pleasured gasps coming from the rotunda in the late hours of the night were any indication, Cullen would say so. They were clearly in love. And she was better off with a mage like herself, someone who understood her. Someone who would cherish her all the days of her life. But it would not be Cullen.

Because she was not his, never his.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: So i added an extra line, just so this story will fit in with future chapters of "Truths The Bards Will Never Sing."


End file.
